


Clap Your Hands

by Heavenlea6292



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, DEAL WITH IT, F/M, Season 7 AU, sam/meg really churns my butter so, this is basically for me and i don't care if anyone likes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:19:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenlea6292/pseuds/Heavenlea6292
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t have anyplace left to go.”<br/>She opens the door and lets him in. She guesses neither of them has anyplace left to go, if he’s turning to her and she’s opening the door.</p><p>Based on an old RP. A "what-if-Sam-went-and-found-Meg-instead-of-hooking-up-with-Amelia" au. A sam/meg au which was for once not my idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clap Your Hands

Dick Roman is dead as a coffin nail, and it’s the only thing that keeps her smiling through this torture. Finally, a mission actually accomplished.

 

* * *

He came for her- finds her in a little over a month’s time. The damage is done, but he still came. Covered in blood, determination in his eyes. She can barely see him through her good eye, as he unchains her and picks her up like a child in his arms.

_ “I told you I’d come back for you.” _

 

* * *

When she sat up, bandaged and bathed, seeing him curled up with a bottle of whiskey cradled in his arms and two weeks’ worth of scruff on his face, she can’t just leave him like that. She’s getting soft in her old age.

_ “Sam.” _

Silence.

She drags him to the bath, cleans him like a child, shaves his face. She dries him, dresses him. He doesn’t fight. He just stands there obediently, letting her. She puts him into bed.

_ “I’m not a babysitter.” _

And then she leaves.

 

* * *

He finds her a few days later. She asks him how he found her, why he’s there, on her motel room step, through the crack in the door. He looks sad and lost, like a puppy caught in the rain.

_ “I don’t have anyplace left to go.” _

She opens the door and lets him in. She guesses neither of them has anyplace left to go, if he’s turning to her and she’s opening the door.

 

* * *

She watches his body as it tosses and turns, his shirt drenched in sweat, his breathing hard. She bends down, gently shaking him awake, only to have a knife at her throat. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t jump away. She’s not afraid of death, but for the first time, a Winchester has a knife at her neck and she knows he won’t use it. It’s just a reflex.

_ “Where’s Dean?” _

_ “I don’t know, Sam. Go back to sleep.” _

 

* * *

There are no bodies to bury, no pyres to be built. He leans heavily on her shoulder, his face pressed in her hair as he sobs.

She lets him.

She’s not sure why.

 

* * *

They find Kevin and his mother. He’s in no condition to help them, and she actually likes the kid. She catches a couple of shifters, forces them to take their forms, and kills them. Kevin and Linda Tran are dead, and starting a whole new life somewhere Crowley and the Angels will have a hell of a time finding them.

Why did she do that? Because she knew she couldn’t take care of him and them at the same time.

Isn’t that too nutty?

 

* * *

Once upon a time, she was trying to kill him and his brother. Now she feels like she’s accomplished something if she can get him to eat a few bites of food. He just sits and stares out the window, Dean’s old necklace twisted up in his fingers, rubbing that stupid amulet.

_ “He’s in heaven now. He’s resting easy.” _

_ “Yup. Take a bite.” _

He picks up the fork she’s loaded with food, puts it in his mouth, chews, swallows.

_ “He’s in heaven, resting easy.” _

_ “Yup. One more bite, Sam.” _

Every day. Every meal. Why the hell is she doing this?

 

* * *

Another night, another night terror. She just makes sure he doesn’t hurt himself anymore- nothing else works. He’s screaming blue murder, his body thrashing like something out of The Exorcist, and the damn motel manager is pounding on the door again.

_ “If you don’t stop that damn racket-“ _

_ “I’m fucking working on it!” _

She’s desperate. She starts screaming right along with him, pinning his chest down with her entire body. The screams die away, replaced with soft crying, his body stills. Her demonic stamina-ha, what a joke, as if she can actually call herself a demon anymore-has all but given up under the strain of this, day after day, night after night.

_ “It’s okay, Sam. Go back to sleep.” _

 

* * *

Whenever she ventures out, the lot lizards and renters are always there, staring. They don’t know what to say, until one of them catches a glimpse of him through the blinds that she forgot to shut.

_ “First couple months are always hardest, sweetheart.” _

The old man in 6b pats her arm, the gesture fatherly but it has her reaching for the knife.

_ “What?” _

_ “The first few months home after a tour. It’s always the hardest, but you two’ll pull through.” _

She doesn’t know what to say.

She keeps on walking to the car.

_ “Poor girl.” _

She hears 6b’s pity ringing in her ears as she drives her knife into a hapless demon’s body.

It doesn’t help.

 

* * *

He wakes up one day, and it’s like a flip switched on. She doesn’t open her eyes as he pads quietly across the room and into the shower. Her first thought is, _here’s your chance! Run!_

But she can’t seem to unglue her body from the motel bed she’s been sleeping in for the past two months, the one next to his. She just lays there, listening to him shower, a surge of relief washing over her.

He comes out with his head down, but he eats the leftovers from his meal last night like he’s starving.

_ “Thank you.” _

She doesn’t think she has the emotional or mental capacity to do something as stupid as cry. But if she did, she would be doing it right now.

 

* * *

He looks confused as the lot lizards and renters at the motel shake his hand or tip their hats to him, and he looks even more confused when they hug her and she doesn’t stab them.

_ “What’s that all about?” _

_ “I told them you just got back from active duty.” _

He laughs his stupid little laugh.

_ “They think we’re married or something?” _

_ “Or something.” _

 

* * *

He sits down on the edge of her bed, his hulking body blocking her view of TMZ. She pitches a flat pillow at him.

_ “Move. My show is on.” _

He doesn’t move. She throws her other pillow and she immediately regrets it, her back pressed against the stupid wooden headboard.

_ “You make a better door than a window, Losechester.” _

_ “You don’t have to stay.”   _

She glares at him and leans over, continuing to watch her show. She can see him smile a little in the corner of her eye.

_ “Okay then.” _

 

* * *

They’ve run out the credit cards, apparently there are limits on those stupid things. They sit knee to knee on the beds that have been their whole world for months, silent.

_ “Do you want to come with me?” _

_ “I haven’t got anyplace left to go.” _

They leave the motel in the dust with nothing but his duffel bag and $13.63 to his name. And she figures, why not? She’d still be chained up in a bathroom somewhere if it wasn’t for him.

She wonders when she’s gonna stop using that as an excuse to stay.

 

* * *

His hand lingers on her arm, his eyes stay on her face a beat longer than they should. He’s drunk, and he’s watching her with heavy lidded eyes from the reclined driver’s seat.

_ “Why did you let me in?” _

_ “I’m not a completely heartless bitch.” _

He laughs and leans forward, his breath hot and sticky sweet with the smell of rum. If she sneezed right now, it would go right in his mouth.

_ “Why are you still here?” _

_ “Why not?” _

He brushes his fingers over her cheek and she slaps them away.

_ “Go to sleep, Sam. You’re drunk.” _

_ “I’m not that drunk.” _

Why is some long dead part of her wishing he was telling the truth?

_ “I think you’re still here because you wanna believe in something.” _

He needs to never drink. Ever.

 

* * *

He hits a dog. He insists that they take the stupid thing to a vet clinic, driving like a Wildman. She doesn’t understand it, but she remembers that look in his eyes, that tone in his voice.

_ “I told you I’d come back for you.” _

She hates the vet bitch who cops an attitude with him, guilts him into keeping the mangy mutt. She stinks like self-loathing and cheap tequila, but she guesses that’s just her demonic sense of smell.

Whatever makes him happy.

 

* * *

He calls the dog “Dog”. She calls the dog “Mutt.” They both call the Vet who lives in the same motel they do “Psycho Vet Lady”.

_ “What should we do when Dog is better?” _

_ “I don’t know, do I look like I know anything about dogs?” _

She’s going soft and senile in her old age, apparently. At least she doesn’t shit her pants or drool.

Obviously, they keep the stupid thing.

 

* * *

She had to get away from this disgusting domestic bullshit. She doesn’t think she was planning to come back. But a run in with a gang of scum sucking parasites, and there he is. Grim determination on his face, tearing them to shreds before hoisting her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

_ “Why would you do that?” _

_ “Cheetah can’t change her spots.” _

He grits his teeth and steps on the gas.

_ “I sure as hell can try.” _

She glares at him, but some part of her is touched. Or it would be, if she had any real feelings.

She’s not really sure how she can even think that sentence anymore without laughing at her own stupidity.

 

* * *

She sleeps in the bed. He sleeps on the couch. Mutt sleeps in front of the door.

She stays awake reading one night. Mutt comes in and makes himself comfortable.

She sleeps in the bed.  He sleeps on the couch. Mutt sleeps on her feet.

A night terror, less frequent now.

_ “I can’t stand sleeping in the quiet.” _

She sleeps in the bed. He sleeps in the bed. Mutt sleeps on her feet and his legs.

She doesn’t mind.

 

* * *

She wakes up with his hand under her shirt, his calloused palm pressing against her ribs. She turns to roll away, but he pulls her back in, her back flat against his chest.

_ “Five minutes, please. Just…five minutes.” _

She feels his warm breath on the nape of her neck, his grip tight but unthreatening. She can get away, if she wants to.

_ “Fine.” _

She doesn’t want to get away.  

 

* * *

He kisses her hard, his mouth hot and needy. She drops her towel; he presses her against the sink of the house they’re squatting in. This is the closest they’ve ever gotten and she knows if he kisses her like that again, She’s not gonna say no; fear of his clinginess be damned.

_ “Do you want me to stop?” _

He has his hands on her naked hips, his thumbs pressing hard enough to leave marks. He’s asking permission and she wants to strangle him for treating her like a person- exactly what she’s not. Fuck him, and his consideration- she doesn’t want it and she doesn’t need it.

His cock is hard in his jeans, pressing against her stomach, and she feels more alive than she has in centuries. She lied. She needs it.

_ “Shut up, just for once.” _

He sleeps through the entire night for the first time since this started.

 

* * *

His head is on her chest, his arms wrapped around her like he can protect her from whatever dangers lurk beyond the edge of this bare mattress. Her fingers inevitably find their way to his sweat-sticky hair and he leans into her touch, just like Mutt does on the rare occasions that she pets the mangy thing.

She stops petting him, her mind elsewhere.

_ “Don’t stop.” _

She resumes, thinking to herself that sex for him is foreplay to cuddling, and that she’s perfectly okay with that. Since when was she okay with cuddling? And cuddling a Winchester, of all things?

She has to tell him.

_ “Dean’s not in hell, Sam.” _

His body goes stiff and he sits up, grabbing her arms roughly. It’s the first time they’ve said his name since he snapped out of his 2 month trance.

_ “You’re sure?” _

_ “I’m sure.” _

He collapses back on the bed, his face pressed into her neck and his grip around her like steel bars.

_ “Thank you.” _

The night terrors stop.

 

* * *

They’re lying on the hood of the Impala, passing a bottle of vodka between them. They’re drunk and they’ve learned that nothing good comes of that- he’s already been to the edge of tears twice talking about Dean. But they keep drinking. And he keeps talking.

_ “Why did you stay? Why did you let me in?” _

_ “After years of trying to murder you, I would’ve been pissed if you died of starvation.” _

He laughs, but she knows that he’s drunk enough to keep pressing. She polishes the bottle off and tosses it away, bracing for the question.

_ “Why do you keep staying?” _

_ “I took care of Cas. Why not you too?” _

He’s staring at her and she can feel her skin crawling. She wants him to look somewhere else, anywhere else. Just not at her.

_ “Why are you still here?” _

She doesn’t know how to answer that question. Because she feels like she owes him? No, that’s a weak façade and they both know it. Because she needs a cause, and he’s a convenient one? No- he’s like a cause, but more. He’s become more.

_ “You said once that you thought I stayed because I needed to believe in something.” _

He pursues his lips, nodding, and it’s adorable and she hates him for it.

_ “Well, there’s one thing I haven’t tried believing in.” _

_ “What’s that?” _

She sits up, looking up at the night sky. He sits up with her, putting his arm around her shoulders, even though she tries to shrug it off.

_ “What is it?” _

_ “Good things.” _

He’s silent for the first time in hours, his fingers reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear.

_ “Good things?” _

_ “I could never see them before. You make me see them.” _

He smiles, and nods, taking her hand in his. For the first time, she doesn’t yank her hand away.

_ “You’re one of the good things.” _

And for the first time, she actually believes that he’s telling the truth- some tiny, little part of her just might be one of the good things.

And she kinda likes it.

 

* * *

She hears a ghost of the past, she sees a ghost of a man who wasn’t in hell, and she knows that if there was ever a time to be one of the good things, it’s now.

She lurks in silence in the closet before taking every part of herself from their space, and she disappears. She has a little help from the king of hell, but even broken, bruised and bloody; she can smile and know that if there is one act that might validate his belief that she’s one of the good things, this is it.

And she can hope that maybe, she’ll be able to see the good things again someday.

 


End file.
